


Surely to the Sea

by inoubliable



Category: Jurassic Park (1993), Jurassic Park III (2001)
Genre: Alan Grant just needs a damn break, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Gay dinosaur husbands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 19:58:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoubliable/pseuds/inoubliable
Summary: A timeline of Alan Grant's life following the events on Isla Nublar, leading to the events on Isla Sorna.--It's 1993, and Alan Grant has almost been eaten by a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Twice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An actual text I sent my girlfriend: 'I stan for Alan Grant all that poor man wants to do is dig up dinosaurs and y'all keep dragging him out to get attacked and almost eaten LEAVE HIM ALONE'
> 
> For Jade.

It’s 1993, and Alan Grant has almost been eaten by a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Twice.

The flight back to Montana is long and silent. Ellie reaches for him once, but his hands shake and his palms sweat and she lets him go eventually.

The helicopter lands almost in the same place it had two days before – an entire lifetime ago. It stirs up a thick, gritty fog of dust, impossible to see through. Alan is too exhausted to worry about the unprotected bones.

He goes into his trailer, dazed and numb. Ellie has her own, but she follows him, stripping to her underwear as she goes, a trail of dirty clothes following her from the door to the bed. Alan’s own clothes are crusted with sweat and dirt and blood, but he falls into bed still dressed, tired to the bone. He sleeps for sixteen hours, waking just long enough to cancel his Monday morning classes and eat a sandwich he barely tastes before sleeping fourteen more.

He cancels his Tuesday seminar, quickly followed by the rest of his obligations for the week. He can’t stomach the idea of walking out the door, terrified of what might be on the other side.

No one really visits, which is fine by him – except Ellie. For every bit that he wants to be alone, she wants to be with him. He tries to understand. He had the kids the whole time, Lex and little Tim, and Ellie was alone in a dark control room with a Velociraptor and Ray Arnold’s arm.

Still. Whenever she knocks, he thinks about not answering. And he always checks the peephole. Just in case.

(Velociraptors don’t knock, he chides himself. Just like they don’t open doors.)

\--

It’s 1994, and he still has dreams about Jurassic Park.

Nightmares, really. The cold-sweat kind, the kind he jerks awake from with Ellie shaking his shoulder, sleepy and scared. It happens more often than not. Ellie doesn’t mind at first. She likes to curl against him, to stroke his chest until his heartbeat isn’t so thunderous in it. “It’s alright,” she tells him, soft like a secret. Like a lie. “We’re alright.”

Alan’s not alright.

Ellie starts to look tired, after awhile. She oversleeps and misses class twice before they decide it’s probably best if she stays at her own place for awhile. Alan tries to dislike the decision, but he finds he doesn’t really mind. He likes the privacy, likes the quiet, likes knowing there’s not another living thing lurking outside his door.

\--

It’s 1995, and Ellie breaks up with him. It’s technically a mutual decision, but she suggests it. Kindly, of course. Ellie is nothing if not kind. She calls him every day for weeks after, and for awhile it’s like nothing has changed.

\--

It’s 1996, and Ellie doesn’t call much anymore. She has a wedding to plan, and long-distance from DC gets expensive.

Alan thought he would like the space, but Montana feels strangely desolate without her around.

The nightmares get worse.

\--

It’s 1997, and he’s a thousand miles away from California, but San Diego suddenly feels crushingly close. His window is open when the news breaks – _monster rampaging in the city_ , a heart-stopping close up of too-familiar teeth. He swears he hears a roar in the distance. He slams the window shut, locks it tight. Makes sure the door is locked, too, even though it always is; even though the deadbolt wouldn’t stop much of anything he’s afraid of.

Ian Malcolm’s smug face is broadcasted on every nightly news channel for a month. He’s interviewed time and time again, and every time he mentions Jurassic Park, Alan’s skin crawls.

Malcolm will write a book about the San Diego incident, Alan is sure. He tries not to remember that he hasn’t written anything in years.

\--

It’s 1998, and he meets Billy Brennan in the middle of a dig. They shake hands, and a fine spray of dust rises off Alan’s skin, settles into the creases of Billy’s crooked smile. His grip is strong and sure, and he looks at ease. Well-rested. Billy probably doesn’t have nightmares. Alan envies him.

He doesn’t need an assistant. The last time he worked closely with someone was Ellie, and he’s seen her just twice since the wedding, which was an awkward affair in and of itself. He doesn’t play well with others, and he damn sure doesn’t work well with them.

He has no intentions of liking Billy Brennan.

\--

It’s 1999, and Alan Grant likes Billy Brennan.

It happens almost without him realizing. He holds Billy at arms length for a long time, but Billy is earnest and smart and charming, and Alan gets too tired to maintain the distance when Billy stays late or arrives early. It’s just the two of them for a couple hours a day, and the silence gets grating, even for Alan. So he asks questions, the kind he should have been asking a year ago.

Why paleontology? Billy was a dinosaur kid, never grew out of it. Alan can appreciate that. He was the same way, before the passion was scared out of him.

Why Montana? Billy’s from some small Midwestern city, so unremarkable that Alan forgets the name of it. He wanted a change. Some change, Alan thinks, looking around at the flat miles that surround them on all sides.

Why study with me? Billy smiles. Because you’re the best, Dr. Grant.

Alan doesn’t mean to smile back, but he does.

\--

It’s 2000, and the Montana summer is hotter than ever. His shirts stick to him and so does the dirt, thick and cloying, something he should probably be used to but never quite is.

The semester hasn’t started yet, and all of his undergraduates are still home with their families. Alan has no family to speak of, and besides, someone has to watch the bones. So it’s just him and Billy.

Alan doesn’t need to know why Billy doesn’t want to go home, only that he doesn’t want to. He’s not technically supposed to let his students stay with him, but then again, he technically shouldn’t be alive. Dinosaurs technically shouldn’t exist. Technicalities exhaust him. He lets Billy stay.

They don’t see each other much. Alan keeps busy, digging and dusting and doing his best not to think. He’s not sure what Billy does, only that sometimes he finds fragments of bone he’s sure he didn’t uncover, or a tool lying out of place.

If he’s miffed that Billy never digs with him anymore, he doesn’t say so. He doesn’t mind being alone. He never has.

Except then Billy shows up at his trailer about a week before classes are schedule to begin, case of beer in hand, and something goes lax in Alan’s chest. He lets Billy in.

They don’t get drunk. Alan almost wishes they did, but he knows that two beers isn’t what makes Billy’s hand so warm where it falls on his knee. He spends a long time staring at that hand, long-fingered and dirty, nails ragged and knuckles thick. When he looks up, he’s surprised to find Billy in his face, green eyes wide and pretty and too close.

He expects the kiss. He doesn’t expect to like it.

The chair really isn’t big enough for the both of them, but Billy manages to crawl into his lap, his knees slipping on either side so that Alan has to grab underneath his thighs to keep him from sliding off. Billy makes a pleased noise at being touched and kisses him again.

“Wanted this,” Billy says against his mouth, a quiet confession, and Alan realizes with a jolt why Billy hasn’t been around much. Realizes they could have been doing this for months, and it’s such a dangerous thought that Alan tries to kiss him quiet, but Billy sighs more secrets into his mouth. “Wanted you,” he says. “Christ, Alan, touch me.”

Alan wishes he was twenty years younger, wants all the strength and stamina to carry Billy to bed and make things last. He coaxes Billy gently off of his lap instead, leading him to the bedroom with their fingers laced loosely. Billy pushes him down, makes him sit on the edge of the mattress while he stands between Alan’s spread thighs, yanking his shirt over his head. Alan beats him to his belt and Billy chews on his lip, watching Alan’s hands undo the buckle. The quiet jingle of it is the only sound. The air is still and silent, fraught with tension, and sweat beads on Alan’s lip, makes his hands slick.

He wants to take things slow. Wants this to last. God, he _wants_.

Billy shakes when he comes, gasping and swearing, saying Alan’s name.

Alan won’t ever forget the way it sounds.

It’s too good to last. Alan is not in the habit of allowing himself the things he wants. When it’s all over, Alan tells himself it won’t happen again.

\--

It’s 2001, and it happens again.

And again. And again. And another time besides.

Billy looks at him from across the dig like he can’t help himself, like Alan is magnetic. Billy looks up at him and sinks fingers into Alan’s back and pants Alan’s name. Billy looks happy.

Alan starts to think, maybe, things will work out for him this time.

\--

It’s 2002, and Billy is lucky to be alive. It’s what all the doctors say.

He’s out of it for a couple weeks after they return to the mainland, loaded up on pain medication and post-traumatic stress. His hospital room is small and claustrophobic, made even worse by all the tightly-shut shades. Billy can’t see a bird outside the window without panicking.

Alan doesn’t leave his side.

Ellie visits a week after she saved them from Isla Sorna. She would have come earlier, but Billy wasn’t allowed visitors those tremulous first few days – except for Alan. He had never wanted to leave, and no one ever asked him to.

She’s leaning against the doorway when Alan looks up. He doesn’t know how long she’s been there. He’s been dozing on and off all day. He would try and sleep, but Billy has been restless, his eyelashes fluttering like he might fully wake up. Alan doesn’t want to miss it.

“Hi,” Ellie says softly.

“Hey,” he returns, his voice rough, disused. The doctors said it might help for him to talk to Billy, but Alan hasn’t worked out the right words yet. He regrets the last thing he said to Billy, before. He wants the next thing to be better.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding Billy’s hand until Ellie sits beside him. He doesn’t pull his hand away.

“He’s going to be okay,” Ellie tells him, and he adores her more than ever for making it sound like a fact, not a question. Ellie is an eternal optimist, but she’s not in the business of false hope.

“Yeah,” Alan says, because it’s all he can think of.

“You’re going to be okay,” Ellie tells him. She’s not looking at him when he glances at her, but he gets the feeling she doesn’t need to. No one ever understood him like Ellie.

“Yeah,” Alan says, but it’s not necessarily an agreement.

“You love him,” Ellie says finally.

Alan has never said those words to anyone, not even her.

“Yeah,” Alan says, because it’s the truth.


End file.
